Recalibration
by Pica Britanica
Summary: A modern/ sci-fi AU of Les Miserables. After the barricade, Enjolras finds himself at the mercy of the government. That is, if the government had any mercy. Can anyone save him from the fate he most fears?


**A/N: So I took a shot at writing a modern/ futuristic AU of Enjolras post-barricade. I don't know if it's any good, or if I'll continue it, but there you go. Enjoy.**

**Dislaimer: I'm not Victor Hugo, these aren't my characters. I make no profits from this work, thank you, bye.**

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The screen crackled into life and the image of a man faded into view. The screen showed a small figure sat on a metal cot, his left wrist shackled to the wall beside him. Even with the camera grade so low, the man's injuries were obvious. A bloody gash ran down his face, slicing across his right eye and splitting his lip. His right arm was curled protectively around his ribs, and from his posture, it was easy to see that he had at least one broken rib. Blood dripped onto the grey cement from his right leg, which hung quite uselessly over the side of the cot, the left leg was pulled up to his chest, and a large tear down the thigh of his trousers revealed an ugly burn. In all, this man was a wreck. Not even worth his time.

Hard to believe this was Enjolras.

After scrutinising the image for a minute, the General leaned back in his white leather chair and sighed. On the screen was the hope of a nation, no, an empire, and look how beaten he was. He dragged his eyes from the image to the man before him, a good, strong soldier who would obey his every command. Just the man he needed. "Well, obviously he's a danger to the peace," he said, "don't you agree, Javert?"

"Yes, General."

The General nodded and steeped his fingers. "Indeed. Bring him to me, I want to speak with him before I decide his fate."

Around him, the room erupted, guards and advisors all vied to be heard above the rest. All except Javert, who stood awaiting his General's commands as quietly and complacently as a dog. Amused as he was by the outcry, the General held up a hand for silence. "Now gentlemen," he said, his voice soft as always. "We needn't fear this rebel – look at him. He is too injured to put up any proper fight, and what better defence is there in this city than the General's guard. I shall be quite safe." This seemed to ease the men's fears. "Javert, take two of your men and bring him here."

Without a word, Javert nodded and spun on his heel. "You two, come with me," he said, pointing at the two men closest to the door. These unfortunate guards both glanced at one another before following the huge man at a safe distance, no one enjoyed getting too close to the General's wolf, he was vicious when apart from his master.

As the door shut behind them, the General smiled to himself and returned his attention to the battered figure, really just a boy, on the screen. Beneath the blood and grime that covered his face, he was quite handsome. He zoomed in to get a better look at him, the whirring of gears within the camera must have alerted the prisoner to its presence, because now his bright, piercing eyes were glaring straight through the screen at him. His lip curled and to his credit, the boy didn't wince. The general imagined that even in his current state, this charming creature would have women swooning at his feet, and a few men too, no doubt. Blood from the gash on his face trickled down his soft jawline and pooled against the collar of his t-shirt, staining it almost black. A few golden curls of hair had stuck to his forehead with blood and sweat, and as he reached up to brush them from his eyes, the General could see blood trickle down his left hand and a hint of bone poking through the delicate skin of his finger.

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With a barely concealed jolt, Enjolras' attention was snatched from the camera to the door. Silhouetted against the glaring lights of the corridor behind him, stood Javert. The two stared at each other for a long moment, both daring the other to break the silence first. Finally it was Javert who spoke, turning to the two men who cowered behind him. "Go handcuff his hands behind his back," he ordered.

At first, neither of the men moved, they shared a wary glance before inching closer in almost perfect, halting unison. As they approached, Enjolras curled his right hand into a fist, hidden as it was behind his left leg. He had no idea where they were taking him, probably straight for execution, but he wasn't going to go without a fight, of that much he was certain. Keeping his eyes firmly on Javert, Enjolras waited until the first guard laid a hand on him to swing. His fist collided with the man's temple, knocking him unconscious in seconds. Enjolras would never admit it, but he was surprised at the cleanness of that hit, and watched as the man collapsed, too stunned to move. This was his downfall, as in a blur, Javert lunged for him and wrapped a large hand around his throat.

Stars filled Enjolras' vision as his head was slammed into the concrete wall behind him. "Don't struggle, boy," Javert growled as he held him in place. Naturally, Enjolras refused to follow this order, and writhed in the wolf's grasp. He kicked out with his left leg.

A hand grabbed his thigh and Enjolras cried out as a thumb dug into the searing flesh of his burn. Darkness crept ever closer as his vision began to swim, his lungs were already starved of air as it was, his broken ribs had seen to that. Glaring up into Javert's dark eyes, Enjolras sagged against the wall. They both knew he couldn't continue this fight, he must surrender.

The second guard, who all this time had stood aside and watched, now scurried forward and unlocked the cuff around Enjolras' left wrist. Javert pulled him from the cot and held him tight as the guard secured his wrists behind his back. When he was sure Enjolras was not going to cause him any more trouble, Javert turned to the other guard and kicked him awake. "Get up," he said. The guard, still groggy, staggered to his feet and took his place beside Enjolras. His fingers dug into his arm and would surely leave bruises, but Enjolras didn't care, what use was fighting these idiots when he had an altogether bigger fight ahead of him.

Javert turned and headed down the blindingly bright corridor without another word, leaving Enjolras to be frogmarched along behind him by the two guards. With every step he was forced to take, Enjolras' fear that his legs might actually give out grew. Every step send sparks of pain shooting up his right leg, every brush of fabric against his thigh felt like the flames licking at his skin once more. It took all his effort to preserve what little dignity he had, to keep the tears from falling and the pained cries from being heard.

Finally, Javert stopped outside a large metal door. From his pocket he pulled a small card and swiped it across a lock on the side. Enjolras felt his heart racing in his chest as the door opened with a whoosh, behind this door was his destiny, of that he was certain. What that destiny would be, he had no idea.

Before he had a chance to realise what was happening, Javert had grabbed him by his collar and was dragging him into the room. "Here is the prisoner you called for, General," he said. Enjolras could feel all the eyes on him as he was flung to the ground. His right knee jarred against the cool marble floor and he bit his lip hard to suppress the scream. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and willed the nausea away. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a voice, but none of the words made any sense as his ears sang. He was dragged to his senses when a hand snapped his head to the side.

"Your general is speaking to you," Javert growled.

Inhaling as much as his battered ribs would allow, Enjolras raised his eyes. Behind the large desk sat the General, no one had ever known his name, they had only known he was the General. It wasn't something Enjolras had ever considered before, his name. "He's no general of mine," he said, his voice rough from the morning's protest.

This earned him another slap, which sent him sprawling across the marble. He groaned softly and made a vain attempt to push himself upright, his efforts were stopped by Javert's boot pressing against his broken fingers. "Watch your tongue, boy," he hissed.

No one could ever call Enjolras a stupid man, reckless, definitely, but never stupid. And as such, he kept his mouth shut.

"As I was saying before that little interruption," the General said, his voice calm as ever, "you have caused my men quite a bit of trouble these past few months, yet I have only just learned your name. In fact, before this very day, I had never seen your face." Enjolras glanced up and saw the General watching him with a sick fascination. "Such a handsome face too, it's a pity that it'll scar. Maybe it'll serve as a reminder of what happens when the people try to upend the peace."

Enjolras could hold his tongue no longer. "There is no peace here, only your forced obedience. What use is peace if it is paid for with freedom?" he spat.

The General's eyes flashed with anger and he leaned forward in his chair. "Careful now, boy. You'll get yourself killed with words like that."

"So be it. I'd rather be dead than become a docile zombie of the state!"

As quick as it had come, the anger in the General's dark eyes vanished. Only to be replaced by a sickening mirth. The wicked smile that accompanied it sent a chill trickling down Enjolras' spine. "I don't think we need to talk of death so soon," he said. He turned his attention to one of the men to his left. "Tell me, does our young friend have a state-implant?

The chill down his spine turned to ice as the man began tapping away at his tablet. They couldn't, God, no please, not that! With new energy, Enjolras began to kick and struggle against the cuffs, anything to stop this. But his feeble attempts were nothing compared to the brute strength of the General's wolf, and Javert quickly subdued him. With help from a guard, Javert held him tight, barely even moving as Enjolras writhed in his arms.

Finally the General seemed to have had enough, he rose from his chair and stormed across to Enjolras. Up close, Enjolras could see the fury behind the well placed mask. Distracted as he was by the man's face, Enjolras couldn't prepare himself for the blow that came. The General's fist collided with one of his ribs and Enjolras could hear, let alone feel the crack as it snapped. Unable to control it, Enjolras screamed in agony, doubling over as much as the guards at his side would allow. He screamed until he had no breath left in his body to make a sound.

In the silence that followed, the man's voice was painfully clear. "He has an implant, General, his parents signed the forms for its installation."

Damn them, Enjolras thought. Damn their stupid belief in the hell they called society. Damn them! With as much venom as he could muster, he gritted his teeth and glared at the General. His heart thundered in his ears and slammed against his chest, and he prayed that no one would see how his hands shook. He would rather take death than the fate that lay before him. Perhaps God would be kind to him now and the stress would stop his heart. Anything but this.

With the calm, disinterested tone Enjolras had come to despise, the General said "Very well, begin the recalibration." He turned to Enjolras and smiled genially. "You will be a model citizen yet, Enjolras."

Enjolras opened his mouth to reply, to make one last defiant speech, but all his words were lost as a searing pain ripped through his brain. He screamed and fell to his knees, not even noticing the throb of his broken leg now. White hot pain burned into his mind and filled his head with a shrill whining. Desperate to block out the noise, to block the pain, Enjolras pulled at the cuffs securing his wrists, wrenching them apart until they snapped like plastic and he could bring his hands to cover his ears. He screamed as blood began to trickle from his ears, unable to process the noise that came from within his head. Anything to drown out the pain. One, barely coherent thought flashed through his pain addled mind – Please God let me die!

He carried on screaming, his voice hoarse and cracked. He dug his nails into the tender skin beneath his hair, causing small streams of blood to form and run into the rivers of tears that coursed down his cheeks.

Please God let me die!

As his screamed subsided into silence and he was nearing unconsciousness, he heard the muffled sound of shouts around him. The hands holding him upright released him and he curled into a ball on the marble floor, smashing his forehead into the cool stone.

Then, hands grabbed at his shoulders and pulled him to his knees. Beyond his own screams and the agony in his head, he could hear someone. Faint in the distance, someone was calling his name. His eyes snapped open and he was met by the sight of a frantic man. His wild black hair was falling in his eyes, but he didn't seem to care. Through the haze of pain, Enjolras could make out only the words on this man's lips, he focused on the movements these cracked lips made, watched as they formed one word over and over and over.

"Enjolras!"

Grantaire's voice, clear as a bell in the storm, was the last thing Enjolras heard before the darkness consumed him.

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**A/N: So there you go, if you liked it, please leave a review, and who knows, I might be back with another chapter. **  
**Mags**


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